


michael, are you all right?

by tincanspaceship



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Dreams, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Languages, Michael Burnham Needs a Hug, Music, Napping, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Running, Sandwiches, Tea, Trans Michael Burnham, Trans Philippa Georgiou, and lie on the floor as bohemian rhapsody plays and you question your life choices, sarek is a bad father, that feeling when you collapse halfway through something productive, tiny nyota uhura (tinyota)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 16:31:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 9,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20067109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tincanspaceship/pseuds/tincanspaceship
Summary: A collection of ficlets detailing Michael's first days aboard the Shenzhou, written for Writer's Month 2019.





	1. Annoyance

Michael taps at the inside of her thumb. 

She's made up games for the rhythm, _tap_ _every letter A, every verb, every pause, hold every r, tap twice when a sentence ends. _

An annoyance, that's what Sarek calls it. The gentle drumming in strange patterns everywhere. 

Amanda calls it a compulsion. 

Michael calls it  _ music _ .

And now she's so close -- just minutes away from escape, from no looming, judgemental eye watching over her, no criticism for being not Vulcan enough. 

The captain of this ship is so nice, so kind, in an emotional way you can't quite find on Vulcan. And she takes interest in Michael, not Sarek, as she shows them around the ship. Michael's finger still taps, but on plastic, on glass, on walls, and Philippa seems almost happy to see her explore the texture of the ship.

"That's quite a pattern you've got there, Michael. What is it?" Philippa prods, and Michael flushes. 

"It's a...well, I've got some rules, and I listen to people talk, and when the rules are met, I tap," Michael explains, rubbing her thumb over the back of her other hand. Sarek's disappointed gaze lands on her, and just as he opens his mouth, Philippa speaks. 

"That's a neat little fidget. Like music," Philippa says, and Michael has the very distinct feeling she and Philippa will get along well. 

She doesn't stop tapping for hours.


	2. hurt/comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, here we go! these chapters are gonna vary since I have some sections for a few of them already written

Michael's made it through the ship, she's seen the bridge, she's said her goodbyes to Sarek (if  _ behave _ counts as a goodbye), and now she's wobbling, teary eyed, in the middle of some basic quarters. Her finger still taps against her side. 

_ My quarters. My home! _

She could cry, but she's not sure if she's happy or sad or something else. 

“Michael, are you all right? I'm not one to make assumptions--" Philippa is cut off by Michael's sudden sobbing and her arms around Philippa's waist, breathing coarse, squeezing Philippa as tight as she can. 

"I - can't th, thank y, enough - cap…" Michael manages, through the tears that shake her whole body. 

"Hey, shh, it's all right," Philippa soothes, cradling Michael's head. She sits on the available bed, pulling Michael down with her. Her hand strokes concentric circles on Michael's back. "Go ahead, let it out."

Michael sobs into Philippa's shoulder, her hands clenching and unclenching the air around her. She trembles in Philippa's arms, Philippa's hand resting across the side of her face, gently holding her in place. Philippa rocks slightly, a careful movement. 

"Michael, take as long as you need, I'm not going to leave. I'm going to be right here. And it's not a problem,  _ you're _ not a problem," Philippa soothes. 

"...okay," Michael manages, through her stuttered breathing, before she relapses to an even stronger sobbing. 

_ she cares, she cares, she cares, she cares -- _

"You're safe here," Philippa murmurs. "Let me know what you need once you've gotten this out of your system, all right?

Michael sniffles and nods, feeling like a small child again, scared and seeking comfort in Amanda's arms, feeling Sarek's ghostly disappointing gaze on her back. 

\---

Michael fades out of her fugue state an indefinable amount of time later, her tears finally abating and her voice returning. Philippa has stayed with her, and Michael still half-expects her to leave now. 

"I, I want…" Michael manages, sucking in a deep breath, her voice skipping like a malfunctioning holo. She runs at her arms. "Clothes, ca, an I, have…"

"Of course. Something soft?" Philippa offers, and Michael nods. She moves Michael's legs off her lap and does her best to put Michael in a comfortable lying position, before hopping over to the replicator and commissioning something just slightly too big, a sweatshirt, soft pants, a shirt. 

The materialization takes hours, it feels, with the background noise of Michael's sniffling. Philippa traces the delta on the sweater with a fingernail as it appears. 

"Here we are. I'll turn around, but you can hop into the washroom, if you'd like," Philippa offers, handing Michael her change. She faces the wall, eyes closed, standing with her hands clasped behind her back. 

"Thanks," Michael mumbles. Philippa can hear her struggling out of her heavy red robe, the fabric crumpling to the ground. Her tears begin to halt as she takes staggered breaths. More rustling follows, as she loses the undercoat and her turtleneck, then the thump of her shoes, a grumble of trying to peel off socks standing up, the slight stick of bare feet on the tiles as she removes her tights. Sweatpants are unfolded, a shirt is pulled on, and a hoodie over that, and Philippa turns just as Michael falls back to the bed again. 

"All right,  _ sayang _ , you need to rest. Tears make you so tired. Would you like me to stay with you? I can pull up a chair, or I can cuddle, if you want that," Philippa says, pulling back the covers. "Or I can leave you until you wake up--"

"No,  _ please _ , I don't want to be alone," Michael pleads, curling up as if to protect her heart. "I can't…"

Philippa's heart breaks, just a little, at that, and her hand cups the side of Michael's face. "Oh, my Michael, I promise I'll be here. Do you want a cuddle?"

Michael nods, her eyes squeezing shut, and a few stray tears leaking. Philippa  _ mmm _ s before wiping down Michael's cheeks with her thumb. "I'm glad you're releasing, Michael, it's important. I'm going to stay here with you until you wake up, then I'm going to take you to the mess hall and get you some lunch, then we'll go to the observatory -- it's nice and quiet -- and I'll talk to you a bit more. Is that all right?"

"It sounds perfect," Michael says, meaning it. The word  _ lunch  _ without the following  _ bread and fresh salad, 1200 sharp _ thrills a deep part of her. 

"All right. For now, get some rest, okay?" Philippa assures, removing her boots and settling herself next to Michael. "And tell me if you want me to move." 

Michael lets Philippa's arm snake around her side, lets her pull Michael close and lets Philippa hold Michael's tired form, her nose settled carefully at the base of Michael's neck. Michael feels something she only barely knows, a vague recollection.

_ Safety? _

Michael's never fallen asleep in the middle of the day before, but Philippa's a potent sedative, and she finds herself drifting faster than usual. 

It's much easier to sleep without the knowledge that you've died at the hands of people who still exist nearby. 

  
  
  



	3. coffee shop au (but only sort of)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the prompt was coffee shop au but that doesn't quite work -- hot beverages are involved, so hopefully that's all right

Michael wakes up with a strange feeling about her brain, a strange haze of not knowing what time it is, her tongue tasting funny, Philippa's arms around her. She's never slept like this before. It feels good, in a peculiar way, and the fog around her brain keeps the memories from floating back, as they do when she's not busy. 

"Captain?" Michael whispers, becoming aware of how dry her lips and throat are. Philippa stirs. 

"Hey, Michael. I trust you slept well?" Philippa asks, shuffling away from Michael and releasing her. Michael almost lets out a whine at the feel of the cold air on her back. 

"Yes, I did...thank you, Captain," Michael mumbles, pulling herself up as Philippa swings her legs over the side of the bed, yawns, and stands. 

"Would you like some coffee or tea for the walk?" Philippa asks, stretching her arms. Michael blanks.

"I….uh, whatever you're having," Michael stammers, trying to think of something to say. Philippa raises an eyebrow. 

"You can ask for something you'd like, Michael," Philippa nudges, "I'd like you to."

"Uh…" Michael winces, trying to recall  _ anything _ . She lets her finger tap against her side. "Green tea?" she offers, remembering her dad's fondness for the taste. 

Philippa smiles. "Bryce's been raving about a recipe he found in the catalog this week. Good job, Michael."

"Thank you, Captain," Michael mumbles, and a soft pat to her shoulder comes next. She flushes.

"One green tea, recipe 14, one black tea to Captain Georgiou's specifications, two sugar cookies, no icing," Philippa orders to the replicator. Michael listens to the different whine with an attentive ear. 

"Here you are, Michael. Shall we go?" Philippa suggests, handing Michael her mug and her cookie. Michael accepts them, graciously. The tea smells lovely. 

"Thank you. Uh, yes, let's go?"

Philippa waves her hand in front of the door and gestures to the opening. "After you."


	4. road trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot I was supposed to do sound tomorrow.....guess we'll carry over the story haha

Michael holds her tea close as Philippa entertains her with a story from her childhood, a road trip she, her mom, her friend Nikos, and their dog Pepper had taken through northern America and southern Canada.

"We saw a herd of deer just staring at us on our hike, we turned back to look at a sound we heard and at least thirty of them were looking directly at us. We all froze. They're very beautiful creatures, and they won't hurt you. It was a lovely moment before Pepper whined and they bolted." 

Michael smiles. "A sort of deer-like creature lives on Vulcan, with big fur around its chest and longer legs. Its shed antlers are decorated with bells and ribbons and hung up."

Philippa steps into the open door of the mess and points Michael to a replicator.

"After you? And that sounds quite beautiful,” Philippa says, herding Michael into the room. Michael winces at the noise. “What would you like for lunch?"

The words don't hit Michael's ears over the din, the sound of forks and plates and glasses and talking, and it's too loud, too loud, she can't  _ think _ , she's frozen. 

"Michael?" Philippa says, concern crowding her features. Michael stares, stationary, tears spilling. Philippa twists her tongue, trying to figure out what to do.

_ It's bright -- no, same lights in the hallway, it's busy -- maybe, it's not very visually busy, we're looking at a wall, smell? no  _ \-- she sniffs --  _ nothing too strong, not touch. The noise! Oh, Michael, I'm sorry. _

Philippa tosses her tea into a disposal unit. Her hands touch the side of Michael's face and press her ears closed. Michael jumps, unfrozen, dropping her mug. She covers her ears and pulls away from Philippa, turning tail and bolting into the corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !


	5. noise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter this time -- I don't know why all the end notes are the same so just ignore them

Michael didn't realize what sound did to her. Vulcan was always quiet. She hated the sounds of forks on plates, but that  _ is _ a terrible sound, so she hadn't thought much of it. 

The corridors are, for the most part, empty as she runs. The sounds are amplified, the ship’s humming a persistent, loudening pain. She pinches her ears shut and barrels into her quarters, throwing herself onto her bed and muting the world with her pillow. 

Even her own breathing is too loud. 


	6. kids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did my best with the prompt but yknow. shrug

After a few moments cleaning up the tea Michael dropped and another minute replicating sandwiches for them, Philippa follows after Michael at a slower pace. Her mind is racing, but she tries not to startle anyone by running. Michael needs a moment. 

Even as she gets to the door, she knocks once, gently, trying not to bring more pain to this young woman. She steps in to find Michael curled up in bed, head sandwiched between a folded pillow. 

“Michael, it's me. Computer, sound muffle,” Philippa whispers, and the auditory sensation of listening through heavy blankets settles over the both of them. She sets the sandwiches down on the nightstand. 

Michael relaxes at the absence of noise, her hand going limp against the sheets again. Her breathing is muted, the hum is gone. 

“Michael, can I hold your hand?” Philippa prods, attempting to stay connected in silence. Michael can't muster up any words, but she holds her hand out, and Philippa sandwiches it between hers. Philippa's hands are soft. Michael runs her thumb over Philippa's knuckle. 

And she crumbles to sobs again. 

_ she cares, she cares, she cares she cares she caresshecaresshecares - _

Michael doesn't even register Philippa sinking to the bed and pulling Michael into a tight embrace, her hand at the base of Michael's skull. She doesn't say a word this time. 

Michael waits for the tears to stop, but every time she thinks they're about to finally slow, she feels Philippa's hand on hers.

She shouldn't cry over this. It's not an efficient use of energy. 

She bites hard on her tongue until the tears halt. 

_ just a scared kid again, just a scared kid-- _

"Hey, Michael. It's all right," Philippa murmurs, rubs her thumb under Michael's eyes to dry her cheeks. Michael frees her hand from Philippa's and presses her palms against her eyes. "I got us sandwiches."

"Sorry, Captain, I didn't...I didn't realize that would happen. I'm sorry." Michael speaks quietly, and the muffling renders her nearly incomprehensible. 

Philippa shakes her head. "You don't have to apologize, Michael. You got overwhelmed. It happens. We'll get you some headphones."

Michael reaches out and tugs Philippa close, clinging to her, a tired child and her brother's  _ sehlat  _ again. She blinks the saltwater out of her eyes as Philippa strokes her head and hums to her. 


	7. sports

Eventually, Michael gets far too hungry to stay still, and shakes herself out of her fugue state. Philippa still has her arms wrapped around her, but she's fallen asleep.

_ Well, that's a pickle, _ she thinks, remembering her mother's favourite phrase. 

But she's stuck. At first, she attempts to slide out by moving Philippa's arms, but her grip is firm and Philippa twitches every time her arms get moved. Michael tries to pull herself up towards the pillow, realizing too late that there isn't enough room for her and bonking her head on the wall. She bites her tongue and decides instead to push herself down off the foot of the bed. She grabs the extra pillow, and through a fair amount of squirming and wiggling, she manages to free herself. 

_ Is this considered a sport? _

Her boots squeak on the floor, and she pulls them off, standing precariously on one foot as she tugs at a boot. The lunch Philippa prepared for them is sitting on the small ledge next to Michael's bed, and she grabs one off the tray, taking a probably too big bite of her sandwich. 

It's so utterly  _ tasty _ Michael almost stumbles. There's no meat, thankfully, and the sandwich isn't complex, but the cheese, tomatoes, lettuce, and some sort of dressing are rich to her Vulcan taste buds. She marvels at the taste.

What else can Philippa show her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if any of you take that last line out of context I swear--


	8. colours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> colours?.....like, those things on pride flags?

Michael's polished off her sandwich and has made her way to unpacking what few things she brought with her by the time Philippa wakes and realizes she's holding a pillow, not Michael. 

“Mm. Sorry, Michael, I didn't mean to fall asleep on you. Has it been long?” 

“No, not long,” Michael responds, placing the single holo she has of her parents on the desk in the room. 

Philippa yawns and stretches. “Decorating?” she prods, swinging her legs to pull her to a sitting position. 

“Trying to. I don't have anything to decorate with,” Michael explains, staring at her empty suitcase. She'd hung up her robe in the closet already, and the sweater Amanda gave her, but other than that, all she'd brought was a book and her holo. 

“Why don't you come visit my quarters? For inspiration. Oh, right! Headphones!” Philippa realizes, hopping to the replicator and commissioning some muting headphones. 

“That sounds nice,” Michael says, placing her suitcase in the closet. Philippa whips around and hands her a pair of sleek white headphones, Starfleet logo placed on each side of the ear. Michael puts them on, and the relief of  _ silence  _ is almost too much. Philippa's voice is clear, but the background noise is gone. Even her footsteps are silent. 

“Testing, testing. Are they good?”

Michael just nods. It's much more like Vulcan now, in a soothing way.

“All right. Off to my quarters, then?”

Philippa clasps her shoulder and leads her off into the corridor. 

\---

Michael walks into Philippa's quarters and is immediately transfixed by the huge rainbow flag hanging on the wall. It takes up almost the whole side of the room. The colours are bright, and Michael steps over to it, running her fingers down the soft surface. The absence of sound is strange. 

“Isn't it lovely?” Philippa prods, tracing loops on the green stripe. 

“Yeah. It's really lovely,” Michael says, her throat going salty as she bites her lip and rubs her eyes. Philippa's arm descends upon her shoulders. 

“Talk to me, Michael.”

Michael sniffles. “On--on Vulcan, there's no Pride, it's just…you are who you are. Vulcans find it--find it easier to realize attraction...I never got the chance to think about it myself, I--” she pauses, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. 

“I wish I got something like this. I don't know…I wish I’d had a community on Vulcan. A friend or two. Running around forests wielding sticks until I couldn't run anymore. Anything. I wish I'd had an aunt, a cousin, an older sibling, a mentor, a  _ friend, _ on Vulcan to tell me it was all right to be who I was. That it was all right to take a pill if the hypo scared me, let me hold their hand at the doctor’s office, let me sit in their lap. I wanted someone to ask questions to, and there's really not many  _ human _ trans women on Vulcan.” Michael lets out a weak chuckle. “There weren't any other humans in our community. I just wanted someone to tell me that it was okay to be trans because they were too. I wanted someone-- _ I wanted someone to tell me to love myself,”  _ Michael finishes, voice cracking. Philippa hugs her tight, pressing her cheek into Michael's hair. 

“It's okay to be trans. I am too. I know it's hard, Michael, to love yourself. But I'll help you. It's possible, Michael,” Philippa whispers, and Michael stares up at her, eyes still, looking quite a bit like a scared kid. Philippa wraps her arms more firmly around Michael. 

“You can ask me anything you like, though I fear I'm a bit late on that one,” Philippa says, and Michael lets out a chuckle before leaning to rest her head on Philippa's collarbone, staring at the rainbow in front of her. 

  
  
  
  



	9. time travel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in one long sitting and now my back hurts press f

After a few minutes of on and off crying in Philippa's embrace, Michael resolves to walking around, or more accurately wobbling in place and taking a step when she can. 

Philippa's quarters are bigger than hers, captain's privilege. She's got a couch and a desk and a big screen on the wall for important calls. The flag is hanging behind a few short bookshelves, cluttered with some paper books, a handful of notebooks, and lots of little figurines of famous statues. Michael runs her fingers over the spine of some books. 

“Those are my vintage science fiction novels, Michael, take a look! This one’s my favourite,” she explains, plucking out books titled  _ City on the Edge of Forever _ , volumes one and two. She hands them to Michael. “Time travel in books is much more fun than time travel in real life,” she chuckles, as Michael tucks the books under her arm. “Borrow then for as long as you'd like.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Michael mumbles, flustered by her donation. 

“You're free to call me Philippa now, when we're off duty,” Philippa reminds. Michael rubs the back of her neck. 

“Thank you, Philippa,” Michael says, and Philippa beams at her. 

“Do you want some holos or paintings? I've got quite a few photos of my hometown and Jira’s been painting as a hobby.”

“Some photos might be nice,” Michael replies, letting her gaze fall to holos of a big, fluffy white dog hanging on the wall. “Who's that?” she asks, gesturing. 

“That's my dog, Milky. He gets taken care of by my friend Nikos back on Earth, and I miss his silly little face,” Philippa explains. 

“He looks soft.” Michael traces the outline of his face. 

“He's a cloud. I can take you down to Langkawi to meet him next shore leave, if you'd like? The swimming's great.”

“Really? I'd love to.” Michael smiles, a bit in disbelief. Philippa picks up a photo album lying nearby and hands it to Michael, who manages not to drop her other books. 

“Take a look, and--” Philippa plucks a PADD off the couch. “Save anything you like to this.”

Michael accepts it with a nod and starts to flip through photos of houses and beaches and wildlife. 

“Do you have any hobbies, Michael?”

“Huh? Oh, no, I suppose not…”

“Drawing? Writing or hockey or music? Nothing?”

“No, if it's too absent-minded, it'll just send my mind back to the Learning Center attack or the Klingon attack.”

The nonchalant way Michael says this, as if she assumed this was how it was for everyone,  _ hurts  _ Philippa. “Michael, it shouldn't…how long has that been happening?”

“I guess since my parents’ death. Sarek didn't really take it seriously, so I never really worried about it.”

“He didn't? He  _ should _ have, that sounds like hell. Did you just live with it? Keep yourself busy?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Michael, you shouldn't have to live like that. What else has he ignored?”

Michael's hands tighten around the PADD with her photos until her knuckles turn pink. 

“I have nightmares,” Michael mumbles, and Philippa squeezes her hands. “I asked him...he said it was a phase. I kept hoping they'd end, but they didn't.”

“They still happen?” Philippa feels the fury take hold in her heart.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, love, I'm so sorry. You don't deserve that.” Philippa cups Michael's face in her hands. “Sickbay has some medication that will ensure you don't have bad dreams. And I'll get a counselor for you tomorrow. Is there anything else?”

Michael sniffles. “I...I had an attack, when the Learning Center asked me a question about my parents’ settlement and the Klingons. I was so out of it...I remember Sarek turning off the program and walking away, and later a different teacher moved me to the medbay...they had to give me anti-anxiety medication, I could barely breathe.”

“He  _ turned off the program _ and  _ left _ ?” Philippa bites down on her tongue. “That's irresponsible.”

“I was...I  _ am _ anxious. I got these terrible headaches and stomachaches. Sarek thought….he thought I was on my tablet too much, I was eating candy or something. There wasn't any proof of that. Amanda tried, I think, to help me, but I don't remember.” 

Philippa tries not to let her hatred rise to her appearance. 

“Okay. Thank you for sharing this, Michael. I've got a bin of little anxiety toys and stim toys--do you want to take a look? I'm going into my office, I'll be out soon.”

“Yeah, that would be lovely,” Michael agrees, glad for the subject change. 

Philippa hands her a large bucket that was sitting beside the bookshelves, filled with colours. She pulls a blanket off the back of the couch, too, draping it over Michael's lap. 

“Is this a weighted blanket? I like...I really like tactile things,” Michael says. “It's very soft.”

“There's lots of fun tactile things in there, plenty of soft things too. I'll be back in just a moment, Michael,” Philippa declares, stepping into her office, shutting the door, and typing in Sarek’s channel number. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	10. whump

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sarek get ready you're about to get dragged

As the call request is processed, Philippa sticks her head out her office door. 

"Hey, Michael?"

Michael looks up from her maze. "Hm?"

"What's your favorite colour?"

"Uh...green." Michael nods, and Philippa closes the door and positions herself in front of the view screen just as Sarek picks up. 

“Greetings, Captain. How may I be of service?” Sarek has that unreadable Vulcan mask, but Philippa's glare is melting it. 

Philippa can feel how tense her shoulders are, how clenched her jaw is. “We need to talk about Michael.”

“Has she caused trouble? I will speak with her about--” 

Philippa waves her hand. “Michael is a  _ lovely  _ young woman, Sarek. She is nothing if not intelligent, but that is what I fear, Ambassador.”

“I do not follow,” he says, an eyebrow raised. 

“She is a  _ shell  _ of a human being, Sarek. She is brilliant, of course, but at what cost? You took her humanity, you scolded her for not being Vulcan enough, you  _ hurt _ her.” Philippa takes a deep breath and watches the positioning and repositioning of his eyebrows. 

“She is a human, Captain, who studied hard for her admittance into the VSA and is disappointed she failed. I am sorry that you believe she is not in a healthy state. It will pass.”

“People in a  _ healthy state  _ don't cry because I ask them what they'd like for lunch! She is so used to a lack of choice in every aspect of her life that such a question reduces her to tears!” Philippa snaps. “When was the last time you talked to her about something other than school? When was the last time you hugged her? When was the last time you asked what she wanted to eat? Have you  _ ever _ asked, Sarek?”

His face is stunned for a moment before he regains composure. “She had no interest in anything outside of school--”

“And you thought that was  _ fine _ ?”

“I have never hugged her. Amanda decided to wean her off physical affection three years ago, to aid her attempt to fit--”

“She's human! Michael needs physical contact, I have held her hand and it has made her sob. Do you really think that you have created anything?”

“Captain, I will not tolerate being interrup--”

Philippa is fuming, she knows, and she bangs her hand on her desk. “What have you  _ done  _ to this young woman?! She is afraid to ask for even a change of clothes! She’s anxious and jumpy, and she tells me she cannot relax -- her mind wanders and she can't handle the flashbacks to her parents’ death -- or  _ her death.  _ Sarek, she is traumatized, she's anxious, and she's  _ terrified _ .”

“Captain, I do not appreciate--"

“Did you  _ listen _ when she told you she had night terrors? Or did you dismiss them as a phase? What about when she had an attack after the learning pod asked her about the massacre in which her parents died? Did you help or did you cancel the program and leave her, trembling and scared, in the pit? And her anxiety -- her stomachaches, her headaches? You assumed she had been sneaking unhealthy food and spending too long on her tablet, not that she was being pushed far, far beyond her limit. She did not have your trust. She did not have the resources she needed to heal.”

“We gave her everything she needed to succeed,” Sarek finally answers. 

“No! No, you  _ did not _ ! She has been having panic attacks for years! And you have done  _ nothing!  _ The physical toll…" Philippa pauses to pinch at the bridge of her nose. "It isn't  _ hard _ , Sarek, to help her, it took me  _ minutes _ ! I asked her what she wanted, and you never even asked what she  _ needed _ . She craves tactile input -- a heavy blanket, a stone, a soft toy,  _ anything _ \-- and now I know how to calm her down. Now I know what she needs for success, Sarek!”

“She never expressed such wants to me--”

“They aren't wants! She  _ needs _ these things. She needs  _ love _ , Sarek. And you couldn't be  _ fucking  _ bothered to lift a finger.”

If Philippa had a clearer head, she'd regret swearing, but she's too tired to be on the good side of the Ambassador right now. 

“Captain, you are being thoroughly unprofessional.”

“Allow me one question, Sarek. What's Michael's favourite colour?” Philippa glares deep into his eyes, shoulders raised. 

“...Blue,” he answers, slowly. 

“Her favourite colour is  _ green _ .”

And with that, Philippa hangs up. 

She sits back in her chair and kneads at her neck, trying to calm herself down. Her head hurts. Sarek is furious, somewhere, and it will come back to bite her, she's sure. 

"Philippa?" Michael asks, voice quiet. "Did you yell at Ambassador Sarek?"

  
  



	11. dark au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a short hop into the MU to fulfill this prompt!

Michael wakes to Philippa's fingers snapping in her face. 

"Up. Now. You'll miss your sparring."

Michael yawns, standing ever so slowly. 

"Oh, will I? Get out, I need to change."

Philippa waves a hand and stalks out as Michael begins to prepare for her training. 

Her shortsword awaits.


	12. dreams

Philippa spins in her chair and looks at Michael's expression of disbelief. 

"Yes. I'm sorry, I know it's  _ illogical _ , but you deserve so much better than what you were given. I…" She presses the base of her palm to her forehead. 

"It's okay, Captain. I never could have confronted him like that." Michael presses her fingernails into a soft foam apple. "I never thought about any of this...I never thought of him like this. But you're right, Captain. He deserved that."

Philippa exhales. "All right. We're gonna replicate some of those toys you like, then we'll go to Sickbay, and we'll get you some fitted earpieces so you don't have to use the headphones, and your nightmare prevent, and an appointment with one of our counselors. Is that all right?"

Michael nods, and Philippa takes a moment to gather herself before taking Michael's arm and guiding her out. 

\---

And they do all that, and Philippa gives her a much funnier ship tour now that Sarek's gone, and she's introduced to the bridge crew, and they have dinner, and Philippa offers her a drink, though she declines in favor of going to bed. Philippa walks her down and tucks her in, quite softly. 

"Michael," she says, sitting on the edge of her bed, "I'm so proud of you. It's been a day and you've done so much. You learn at incredible speeds. You're adapting."

"Thank you, Captain," Michael mumbles, blushing. 

"I know it's been emotional today. And I bet that's hard, after Vulcan. You're doing so well, so far, but if it's ever too much, you just have to let me know, okay? I won't be disappointed."

Michael nods, and Philippa leaves her with  _ goodnight  _ and a shoulder pat, turning off the lights on her way out. 

Michael drifts off to sleep with the reassurance it won't be a nightmare. 

  
  


** _Michael_ ** _ .  _

_ Michael looks up at her mother. She's tiny, based on the trees around her, but her mother is astonishingly tall, reaching far above the tips of the pines. Her mother reaches down and gently picks Michael up between her fingers, holding her other hand underneath her small feet to ensure she doesn't fall.  _

** _I've missed you, little one. How are you?_ **

_ Michael opens her mouth to speak, but no words escape. Gabrielle places her in her open palm, looking at her with interest.  _

** _I'm sorry_ ** _ ,  _ ** _Michael. I hope you're doing well. _ **

_ Her mother strokes her cheek with her finger, her fingernail the size of Michael's head.  _

_ Michael nods.  _

** _Good. I'm glad. I wish I was there with you, baby girl._ **

_ Michael tries to speak again, but all that comes out is a  _ guh  _ sound. Gabrielle gently pushes her hair out of her face.  _

** _Don't stress yourself, Michael. _ **

_ Gabrielle watches as Michael tries to speak again and again, finally managing to say a coarse  _ hello.  _ Her tongue doesn't quite work properly.  _

** _Hello, baby girl._ **

Mom? I miz--I misssss you. 

** _I miss you so much._ **

I'm awn--on the Shez...Shez-ouh. A Star..fleet, Sarfleezt ship. I juzst...just got here. From Vulcai...can. 

** _Oh? Are you enjoying it? _ **

_ Michael nods.  _ The cap...cap-i-tain. She'z nife. Nice.

** _How _ ** **wonderful** ** _. See you soon, little one. _ **

_ Michael waves goodbye as she wakes.  _


	13. Emotions

Michael opens her eyes to the unfamiliar atmosphere of the ship, the slight hum not bothering her much anymore, and she's struck with the beautiful idea that she can do  _ anything.  _ The clock says oh-eight-hundred, and that's later than Michael's slept in for years. 

Maybe it's just because of the first good sleep in nearly twenty years, but she's buzzed. 

She replicates herself a sundress, because she can, because she wants to wear bright yellow. It bounces with her, and she takes a few minutes just to hop around the room. Vulcan robes are heavy. This yellow gingham is light and fluffy. 

She replicates another  _ Alice _ , gets a pen, too, some water markers, and just draws all over the pages, space and eyes and faces and I-Chaya, colours with watery blocks, cuts the pages carefully and sticks them to the wall. 

More inviting, prettier. Her space. 

She gets a starmap, a huge paper one, big enough for a whole wall. Puts it up. Cassiopeia glitters above her pillow. 

Her growling stomach isn't ignorable now, so she replicates herself bread with jam, cheese, and pears, and she savors it. A fruity cold tea, too, and it's so delicious. She spils some jam on her new dress and wipes it off, not worrying about the stain. 

She finds the quiet of the room disturbing once she's finished crunching on her toast. She's not sure what kinds of music she likes, but her vague recollection reminds her of what her parents loved, an old band. 

"Computer, play Queen, musical artist," she orders, and just the simple, rhythmic intro to this song is pulling her back to the good moments of her childhood. 

It's the greatest thing she's heard. 

She gets another flash of brilliance, replicating some purple lipstick. She runs into the bathroom to put it on, her precision honed from the quick practices of Vulcan. Sure, it's more than a little ridiculous, but it doesn't matter. She's free. 

She leaves the tube on the bathroom shelf, then remembers to brush her teeth and runs a toothbrush across the inside of her mouth before discarding it into the sink. Her feet take her back out into the center of her quarters. 

"I'm free!" she declares, not being able to stop herself. She spins in place, spinning and spinning with her arms out and her skirt billowing, until the world blurs and she collapses to her bed, laughing. 

_ I feel happy, Philippa. And I owe it to you.  _

She bounds up, thinking of what to do next--oh, maybe something Greek, a myth or something, perhaps a few photos of Vulcan, then maybe she'll get cracking on those books Philippa lent her. 

She's halfway to the replicator and then it's over. 

The energy melts out of her limbs. She falls back to her bed. There's a pervasive listlessness in every cell of her being. 

She can't fathom any of the things she just did. 

Those pages are ripped, her art is bad. A star map? No one's had one of those in centuries. That breakfast wasn't healthy. A dress? Why? And such an obnoxious shade of yellow. Purple lipstick!

Michael just wants to shed this and be Vulcan again. She doesn't care for feelings. If only. This has given her emotional whiplash. 

She'd love to rip all those pages off the wall and change back into her Vulcan robes, but she can't move. She's glued in place. 

  
She  _ feels _ like absolute shit.


	14. fairy tales

Michael lies, motionless, in her bed, hoping for something, anything. She can't bring herself to move, to turn her head. Time is jelly. The music is just buzzing now. 

She waits. She doesn't even notice she's waiting, swirling in self-hatred, a fear of  _ something _ .

Her mind is too loud and too quiet and too fast and turtle-slow.

After some indefinable amount of time, there's a knock at the door. Michael spends too long working her mouth to speak. 

"Come in," she says, as best she can. 

Philippa enters, and almost stumbles at the sight of her protégé, lying limp, staring up at the ceiling, surrounded by a half decorated room and wearing a very yellow sundress. 

"Is this Queen?"

Michael nods. The bed sinks next to her as Philippa sits and tests her forehead. 

"What happened, Michael?"

"I don't know. I woke up and I did all this, and then I just stopped. I lost all my energy." Michael lifts a hand to rub her eyes. 

Philippa winces. "I know that feeling. Did you have breakfast?"

Michael nods again.

"Okay, let's get you sitting up, hm?" Philippa helps Michael up, leaning her back against the wall, a helpful hand on her shoulder. "Can I get anything for you? Water?"

"No, no, I'm all right. Only tired, I think."

"Oh! Did you sleep well?" Philippa offers, leaning against the wall beside her. 

"Yeah. I really did...can't remember the last time I didn't have a nightmare. I even slept in." Michael smiles, a little.

"Isn't that wonderful! Why don't you just sit here, gather yourself, maybe do some Vulcan stretches or something, and I'll tell you a story. Hm?"

"I think that's manageable," Michael says, and she instinctively holds her finger at the base of her thumb, preparing her tapping. Philippa grins. 

"How do you feel about fairy tales?"


	15. first time (as a word prompt)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i Know the prompt is first time but my constitution is too ~delicate~ for pornography

Michael finishes her  _ suus mahna  _ set, just in time for Philippa to finish her elaborate tale. Her mind is calmer, though still a little torrential, and she’s changed back into a more comfortable sweater and some Fleet-issue long pants. Philippa finally opens her eyes and stretches.

“Are you feeling better, Michael?” she prods, preparing to stand.

“Yeah. A lot better.” Michael paces around the room, unsure of what to do. She runs her hand over the back of her neck.

“Has that happened before?”

“I…” Michael halts, scrunching her nose as she tries to recall. “I’m not sure, exactly. This was the first time it was this noticeable, at least.”

“Hm. Do you want to go for a run? Clear your head a little? We can go around the ship, or we can use the holodeck.”

“The holodeck sounds nice...could we go there?”

“Come with me!” Philippa says, already up and running out the door. “Race you!”


	16. Soulmates

Michael lets herself fall to the ground, panting. She takes the drink Philippa offers her, and the protein bar, already ravenous. 

"Are you all right?" Philippa leans over, sitting nearby and nibbling her granola bar. 

"I'm exhausted. You do that every day?

"I suppose I'm used to it, but it is quite long. I'm impressed you managed to keep up." 

Michael groans, her legs aching. "Only barely. You're too fast."

Philippa chuckles and takes a drink of her bright blue sport drink.

"On Vulcan the exercise is less frivolous. Our gym class had you run as far as you could in one minute and if you were still within the radius of a standard explosive you failed." Michael takes a drink of her lemon beverage. 

"Dismal."

"Mmhm."

Philippa flops to the ground next to Michael, staring at the sunrise sky. 

"What time is it?" Michael asks.

Philippa lifts her watch close to her face and squints. "Eleven fifteen."

"I don't want to move."

"That makes two of us."

Michael rubs her eyes. "When I was little I would lie facedown on the carpet and wait for my cat to sit on me. My mom thought I was dead the first time I did that."

Philippa snorts. "I would hide under furniture and fall asleep. Aren't we a match made in heaven? Soulmates of floor sleeping."

Michael chuckles as Philippa makes dramatic snores. 


	17. accidental baby acquisition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the lovely multilinguals in the culmets discord server for their help, @pplwkp and @freespirit!

Philippa offers to walk Michael back to her room so she can shower. Michael accepts the offer, gratefully, and manages to peel herself off the holodeck grass. 

The hallways are quiet until a young child rounds the corner and bonks right into Philippa. They recover quickly. 

“Oh, hello, Nyota!” Philippa greets, picking up the young girl, to her delight. “How'd you get here?”

“Elevator!” she squeals, repeating herself in several languages. Philippa chuckles and presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“This is Michael,” Philippa says, turning the kid in her arms. 

“ _ Hauska tutustua,  _ Michael!  _ Schön, sie kennenzulernen! _ ”

“Oh-- _ dif-tor heh smusma? _ ” Michael offers. Nyota beams.

“What language's that _ ? _ ” she asks, bouncing in Philippa's arms. 

“Vulcan. It's an old saying. Live long and prosper.”

" _ Dif-tor heh smusma,  _ Michael!" Nyota chirps, and Michael smiles at this tiny kid. 

"There you are, Nyota!" cries someone from the end of the hallway, and a crewmember comes bustling down the corridor. 

"I learned a new word,  _ papa! _ In Vulcan!" 

Philippa hands Nyota over. "She and Michael hit it off, and Michael was kind enough to give her a new phrase," Philippa explains.

"Well, thank you so much. Uh -- how should I address you?" 

Michael takes a moment to think. 

"Doctor Burnham," Michael offers, and shakes the crewmember's hand. 

"Lieutenant Uhura. Nice to meet you, Doctor."

" _ Dif-tor heh smusma!"  _ Nyota exclaims, and the lieutenant gives her a kiss on the cheek before wandering off and asking her what that means. 

Philippa clasps Michael's shoulder. "Well done, Michael. She loves you already."

Michael can't hide her grin.


	18. Poetry

“Do you like poetry?” Philippa asks, unprompted, as they wander down the hallways, navigating back to Michael's quarters. 

“Well, I...I don't know. I never really thought about it. Vulcan poetry is formulaic and stiff -- not that they think that's what it is.”

Philippa chuckles. “Well, our Keyla has a knack for poetry and I do believe she's doing a performance tomorrow night, if you're interested. She's lovely.”

“I’d love to go…uh, can I ask you something?” Michael mumbles, staring at the ground. 

“Of course.” Philippa pats her on the back. Michael smiles, only a little. 

“I don't know...I don't know that I want to be in the science track,” Michael admits, picking at her forearm. She closes her eyes and waits for something. 

“Well, that's no problem! Where would you like to be? You'll probably have to do some courses, but most of the training can be on the ship, like an apprenticeship.” Philippa beams at her. Michael feels the love radiating from her and loosens her shoulders. 

“I'd like…if it's all right, I'd like to be in command.” 

Philippa's grin widens. “Oh, wonderful! You'll be in the command training program, which I believe is starting next month. Until then, I'll see if there's an opening for a science officer on the bridge. Is that all right?”

“Really? Thank you, Captain.”

"Of course! A resourceful young one like yourself will do just fine in any track. Though our sciences department might be a bit disappointed that they don't get the famed Doctor Burnham, xenoanthropologist." Philippa snorts. 

"Well, I hope my skills are put to good use in the command program," Michael offers, and Philippa pats her shoulder. 

"I was a field medic for sixteen years. It's good to have a wide range of skills in the command track. And if you ever change your mind, it's never too late to change your track."

Philippa leaves her in her quarters with a smile and an invitation to the bridge after her appointment.


	19. Mythology

Michael sits in the quiet of her quarters, flipping through the pages of Philippa's books. Her hair is still damp from the shower, and keeps dripping water onto the paper, despite her best attempts to stop it. 

The archaic science fiction novels are a silly kid of mythos in themselves, a universe with strange tools and incomprehensible science babble, but they feel like ancient texts.

This example is from the nineteen sixties, a captain and his right hand stranded on an older Earth, nineteen thirty-something. The captain has fallen for some woman. Whether she needs to live or die is yet to be determined. 

It's terribly melodramatic, increasingly predictable, but she's enjoying it anyway. There's something captivating about the story, a look to a different future. A glance to a way it could have been. 

  
  



	20. weird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just about 2/3 of the way there, can you believe it?

Michael steps out onto the bridge, feeling a bit weird and definitely out of place, but no one seems to really notice her, except for a few head nods. She returns the gesture, albeit stiffly, and arrives at the side of the captain’s chair.

“Captain?”

Philippa spins in her chair, smiling. “There you are! Feeling any better, Michael?”

“Oh. Yes, a little.” Michael tries to force a grin, but it doesn’t work. Philippa doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Here. Have a seat next to our Saru, and he’ll show you the controls of the panel. You’ll get along well, I think.” The captain gestures to the nearby panel, where the aforementioned Saru stands. Michael awkwardly sidles up to him, staring at the smooth surface of the panel. He lets out a small  _ ah  _ before pointing at a button on-screen.

“It’s quite intuitive -- see, on this side are all your shipwide functions, and over here…”

Michael’s already managed to start bickering, and Philippa attempts to hold in her laughter as the two fight like children.


	21. Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't stop writing tiny uhura send help

There's a very quiet knock at Michael's door. She spends a moment mulling over whether or not it really happened, before deciding to let the doors open. She sets down her pen and closes her sketchbook. 

Philippa stands in the doorway, holding Nyota in one arm and a bucket in the other. Nyota immediately chirps  _ Michael! _ .

"Hey, Michael. I hope we're not intruding?" Philippa takes a step inside, observing the changed design. Michael had taken down her previous attempt at decorating and put a much smaller star chart up on the wall, along with a few of Philippa's photos. 

"Not at all."

"Saru was so kind as to donate you a few plants, if you'd like some greenery?" Philippa offers, handing over the bucket. Michael peeks in to find a few flowering plants and a glossy green plant with dense leaves. She sets them down on the table. 

"I picked them! D'you like them?" Nyota chimes, wiggling up and down in Philippa's arms. 

"I love them. Thank you." Michael plucks a pot with bright orange flowers out of the container and inspects it for a moment. 

"Nyota had a question for you, Michael." Philippa turns to look at the girl. 

"I was gonna ask if you could teach me more Vulcan? I was lookin through the words an' I learned a whole lot and I wanted you to maybe help me?"

Michael smiles at Nyota, her eyes wide and hopeful. 

"I'd love to, Nyota."

She bounces and lets out a happy laugh. "My  _ papa _ said tha' my brain is really squishy with languages! So I need to ab-sorp a bunch!"

Michael chuckles. 


	22. Summer

"How do you say….um." Nyota scratches her cheek. "Um. The really warm--" She shakes her hand. "The hot part of the year?"

"Summer?" Michael grins. " _ Belaar.  _ It's so, so hot on Vulcan."

" _ Belaar _ is the best season. I get to swim!" Nyota chirps. "An I really like swimming 'cause it's re... _ refreshing _ ."

"There's really not much water on Vulcan, but back when I was on the colony, there was this massive lake, big enough to be an ocean, and my family liked to go swimming every year. It was nice."

"Ooh, was it really really wavy?"

Michael continues her story. Philippa smiles from her position behind Michael's desk, adjusting the flowers on one of her new plants. 


	23. death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of the Klingon raid and mentions of injuries.

Nyota's been picked up by her  _ papa _ , who gave Michael a very grateful thank you for her time, and now Philippa is examining the photo of Michael and her mother on the wall. 

Michael was ten, then, and she and her father had made a pie, actually cooked it, used a recipe. They gave the lopsided peach pie to her mother, for her birthday, and Michael had been squeezed into the biggest hug. Her dad had taken the photo of their smiling faces. 

Michael had shoved it into her coat when she'd ran out of her house, holding a discarded Klingon phaser rifle and too dulled to realize they'd taken her mother's body. 

She lived through the three days of the raid. She almost died, an archaic crossbow bolt to her empty gut, stumbling into the dirt, running, firing blindly, her hands too small for the weapon. A Starfleet officer had beamed her onboard their ship, overflowing with casualties, her tiny voice lost. 

They found her dying and unconscious in a corridor. A tiny little thing, the doctor had called her, too young for this. She cried for her mother, still hazy with sedatives, latching herself to the closest thing to Gabrielle. It was just an ensign, a field medic, but they'd picked her up as if she weighed nothing, and given her a hug, held her tightly, told her it was gonna be okay in the end. 

"Philippa...were you on the ship...one of the ships that responded to the raid?" Michael manages, quietly, but Philippa hears. 

"I was. I…" Philippa stops, unsure how to complete the sentence. 

"And did you see a little kid with a bullet in her stomach?" 

Philippa shakes her head. "After I had done my duties there...I broke down. I can't remember any of it. It was erased. I'm sorry, Michael. I'm sorry, I don't know if I was there."

Michael twists her fingers in her lap. 

Philippa descends to give Michael a hug, a familiar one. 


	24. superheroes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medical TW for this chapter

Philippa's hands wrap over Michael's, hold her close, tuck her in tight. Michael sniffs. 

"Michael," Philippa whispers, "Doctari Alpha was the biggest massacre most people had ever seen. Myself included. It was brutal. There were so many who were left to die, to bleed out, and we couldn't do anything about it. There were kids, Michael, like yourself, who were so badly injured. I'm not a superhero. My mind--my body…I went to bed after four days of barely any sleep. I had nightmares. I woke up a day later. And I didn't remember anything. It was a survival mechanism, Michael, I needed it. I'm sorry, I truly don't remember if I saw you." Philippa rocks, gently, as Michael cries into her shirt, her hand resting over her abdomen, where Philippa assumes the scar must be. 

"I...I don't...I don't remember much...they had to give me some archaic sedative, they were running out of everything." Michael wipes her nose on the back of her hand. "Amanda knew my father. She heard his daughter was orphaned and she came to take me. She was so kind. I was confused...I kept asking for my photo. They found it, eventually, and Amanda brought me back to Vulcan, got me cleaned up. I drifted away from everyone. I was still injured. And I remember all of it. I wish I could forget. I wish…" she chokes out. 

Philippa gathers Michael in her arms and holds her tight. 

  
  
  



	25. flowers

Michael runs her fingers over her flowers, the blooms heavy with colour. There's a small note at the base of this flower with care instructions --  _ water lightly every other day, place under sun lamp.  _ She adds a sun lamp to the list of things she should get. 

  


There's a small flag poking out of her red plant, and upon further inspection, it appears Philippa's stuck a small pride flag into the soil -- she must have done so when Michael was teaching Nyota, it's still warm from the replication. 

  


Michael spins in her chair and opens up the replicator menu, scrolling through the recent logs before she finds the pattern for the small flag Philippa had stuck into her plants. She hesitates as she looks through the colours, her finger hovering over the pink and blue and white.

  


It's not something she's found pride in, she supposes. It's nothing unusual. 

  


She remembers her father calling her  _ little one _ and asking her what she'd like to be called now, if she'd like -- and she'd interrupted with  _ Michael! I wanna be Michael! _ . And her mother, calling her  _ my girl, baby girl, princess _ .  _ Queen Gabrielle and Princess Michael.  _

  


She remembers Sarek, fighting with Amanda over Michael's frequent visits to an off world doctor. Amanda's explanation that  _ the doctor is keeping an eye on her. You know how she is. They say she's at a higher risk for depression and anxiety.  _

  


_ We could call them instead of wasting energy on a shuttle.  _

  


_ They need to know Michael's sleeping, and make sure everything's working smoothly.  _

  


_Of course_ _I'm sleeping_, Michael had thought. _You know how she is? Why am I at a higher risk? What have I done?_

  


She had existed. That was enough.

  


Michael selects the flag and watches it materialize. It appears in moments, and she sticks the small decoration into the nearest plant, next to her rainbow flag. A little collection. 

  
Michael feels the smallest bit of genuine  _ pride _ rise in her stomach   



	26. weddings

Michael inspects her holo for the thousandth time, looking at her mother's happy, bubbling smile. Her hand is around Michael's shoulders, her wedding band shining off the light of the candles in the pie. 

Michael remembers her parents' wedding, though she was quite small. They'd been officially married for years, but never had any event or celebration of the fact. Michael's father had wanted to have a celebration, after her mother had finished a stressful project, so the family had gone on vacation to a lovely historic site on a snowy planet. Michael wore a big, fur-lined coat, cuddled up to her father's chest as they renewed their vows. She remembers the warmth. 

Her mother and father had worn heavy robes with a synthesized fur, a traditional garment of her father's settlement. The sleeves were heavy but warmer than anything, softer than anything. 

Her mother and father had given her a warm hat, bound similarly to knitting, and it kept her little ears warm with the drawback of muting the speech of the ceremony. 

The photos were long since lost, and with only a few memories of the event, only the retellings, there is a pain that stirs every now and again that Michael cannot know what was said, cannot possibly recall anything in any sort of detail. 

  
  
  



	27. celebration

Michael traces along the tendons of her forearm, flexing her fist and watching them pull at her skin. 

Philippa plops down next to her, her tray clattering on the table. She smiles at Michael. 

"How are you? I hoped to see you at breakfast, but I assumed you slept in." 

Michael finishes her spoonful of chili and nods. "Two days in a row. I went back to Sickbay last night. They said I can take a few more nights worth of the dream changers...said it'd get better, even if I didn't take it anymore. I went this morning for brain scans."

"Two days sleeping in? That's worth a celebration," Philippa chirps, raising her glass. Michael clinks her tea against it. 

"Thanks," Michael mumbles, scratching at the back of her neck. 

"So, how did the brain scans go?" Philippa pulls a nacho from her mountain, cheese strings stretching. Michael stares. Philippa nudges the plate towards her. 

"I don't suppose they were great," Michael says, pulling a chip out from the moderately cheesy edges. "Nambue said my serotonin levels were, quote, 'lower than a Klingon that hasn't been honorable in a month,' unquote."

Philippa snorts. Michael shoves her chip into her mouth.

"Nambue is one for the unusual metaphors, I will say." 

Michael laughs, appreciating Philippa's hand drifting over to rest on her wrist. 

  
  
  
  
  



	28. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slams hand on table* fOUND FAMILY!

Michael's just about to throw her tray in the recycler and exit, but Philippa taps her hand before she can get out of the chair. 

"Michael." Philippa states it in a low tone, almost secretive. Michael drops back to her seat, intrigued. 

"Hm?"

"I want you to know that this ship is a place for you. You can talk to anyone here. We're a family, Michael, and I want you to feel  _ safe.  _ Please don't be afraid, my dear, to find people." Philippa pats her hand. "If you'd like to come over for dinner, Januzzi dropped off a fresh loaf of bread and I've got a bottle of wine I've been saving for a while, if you'd like."

Michael smiles. "I'll see you tonight, Captain, thank you."

Philippa taps her fingers on the table twice and pops another nacho in her mouth as Michael drops her tray in the recycler and heads out. 

  
  



	29. height difference

Michael knocks twice on Philippa's door, holding her plate under her arm. She waits. She'd arrived at the proper time, she thought, not too early, not too late to go to bed later than usual. A proper time for a proper adult. 

"Michael! I'm glad you made it, come in!" Philippa chirps. 

Philippa looks even smaller out of uniform. She's not much shorter than Michael, but the large academy sweatshirt and the loose pants contribute to making her look even more diminutive. Her toenails are painted a bright blue. 

"I, uh, I brought some Vulcan food...it's kind of like dumplings. They're my favorite." Michael thrusts out her tray, and Philippa accepts it gratefully. 

"Oh, you didn't have to do that! Thank you so much!"

Michael is happily ushered into Philippa's quarters. 

  
  
  
  
  



	30. Pining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting on mobile so I'm guessing there's gonna be format issues, they'll be fixed tomorrow.

"You'll have to excuse me starting without you, Michael, I've been pining for this sandwich all shift," Philippa explains, holding the back of her hand to her mouth full of cheese and bread and tomato. "But my gods those Vulcan...whatever they are smell delicious." 

"It's really all right...I thought you might have eaten before I got here." 

Philippa pats her shoulder. "Never. Have a seat, Michael, make yourself at home."


	31. there was only one bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! We did it!!

Michael takes a seat across from Philippa, taking her cue to bite into her sandwich. Philippa was right. It's delicious. 

"To three days on board!" Philippa announces, handing Michael a glass, and clinking theirs together with a grin. 

"To three days on board." Michael smiles in a reflection of Philippa's face. 

Michael takes a small sip. Philippa mirrors her and relaxes back in her chair. 

"You've made it, miss Michael. You seem to be doing much, much better. It's still a long road, but I'll be here. We've got to stick together." Philippa smiles fully, with her whole body, and she leans forwards to pat Michael's hand twice. 

"Thank you.  _ Philippa _ ." 

"Ah, there she is! And we didn't even have to end up in a crisis situation on an away mission with only one sleeping bag."

Michael laughs, actually laughs, and lets the happiness seep into her bones.

**Author's Note:**

> well we'll see how this writer's month goes dhdgdg.


End file.
